


litmus test

by belial



Series: pH indicators [1]
Category: CA:TWS - Fandom, Captain America, Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, D/s themes, Dubious Consent, HYDRA PARTY FAVOR TRASH PARTY 2014, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:58:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1817686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belial/pseuds/belial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brock is a fighter and a strategist.  He knows what he wants, and he’s not going to let anything stand in his way.  Especially not his stupid biology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	litmus test

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Лакмусовый тест](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941088) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



> Notes: A/B/O dynamics and absolute consent issues. Fortunately, I’m playing with darker characters, so… 
> 
> Warnings: D/s themes. Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. Dubious Consent. NO MPREG.

His mouth’s dry.

Brock groans back into consciousness, wincing as the pain in his head explodes into agonizing color. “Fuck,” he says. “What the fuck.”

“Thank fuck,” he hears muttered from his right. “Rumlow, wake the fuck up.”

Brock forces his eyelids up and takes in the dark, damp cell around him. “Status report,” he snaps. “Who’s here?”

“Rollins, Callahan, Sharpe.”

Hearing Jack’s voice makes him sigh in relief. “So I take it our mission didn’t go as planned.”

“You might say that,” Jack replies. “Can you move?”

Brock ripples the muscles in his arms and legs, but he’s solidly strapped down to the floor. “Shit.”

“Yeah. At least you get to lay down,” Thom says. “Better than being cuffed to the wall.”

Brock glares at his youngest team member, but without much ire. Sharpe’s a good kid, strong and smart – even if he is a sarcastic little shit. Brock can’t help but like his team: Jack, his second-in-command, with tactical knowledge to match his own; Thom, their explosives whiz and sarcasm machine, and Dan Callahan, the quiet but lethal close-range fighter. Alphas through and through, all of them, chosen to be the best Hydra could offer.

Well… Alphas, except one.

The cell door clangs open and they all tense; a figure walks in, dressed from head-to-toe in some sort of lab apparel, carrying a giant syringe in one hand. “Well, this doesn’t look bad at all,” Brock sneers, and struggles to get loose. “What the fuck do you think you’re going to do with that?”

The figure says nothing, walks over to Brock, and slams the needle directly into his chest. Brock howls; his cry is matched in intensity from the three men around him. He can hear them fighting their own bonds to get loose, but it’s to no avail. Once the entire contents of the plunger depresses, the figure turns and walks to the door. The metal frame bangs closed behind them, and leaves them all in the half-dark again.

“What the hell was that?” Dan asks. “Boss? Are you okay?”

Brock is still fighting for breath; he can’t reply because his heart’s too busy trying to burst through his chest. He can hear his team struggling harder; chains and manacles being yanked, he can smell Jack’s blood in his nose as he twists to get his hands free. “Stop,” Brock finally gasps. “Wait.”

The noise ceases. “Rumlow?” Jack says his name softly. “Can you hear me? What was that?”

“Dunno. ‘S makin’ me sleepy,” Brock admits against his will. “’S not… ‘s just…”

“Brock!”

Brock’s head lolls back as the full force of the drug hits him. He can feel his body catch fire, sweat racing out of his pores like water. His clothes and tac gear smother him, make him itch and twist to get out of them, but the manacles hold fast. It’s the worst he’s ever felt, more than pain, the burning discomfort under his skin worse than any torture they could put him through. His mind swims, and he can’t help the whimpers that escape through his clenched teeth. It feels like… it feels…

“No,” he gasps, coming awake. “Fuck it, _no_ …”

“Boss? What’s going on, are you gonna be okay?” Dan asks.

“S’heat,” he responds, unable to stop the words from trickling out. “Goin’ into heat.”

Silence. It’s Jack who finally says, “What the hell do you mean, heat?”

Brock cringes; it’s been his secret for the last ten years in S.H.I.E.L.D., and Hydra; hidden from every teammate he’s ever known. “Y’know how they made Captain America?” he grunts. “Super soldier serum? I got it, too. Let ‘em, wanted to be bigger, stronger than fucking biology. Didn’t… not invincible, but so much more than I was…”

“You’re telling us that you’re omega? And you’re going into heat?” Thom’s eyes are the size of dinner plates. “They put an omega in charge of a STRIKE team, are they nuts?”

“Fuck you,” Brock snarls, pissed, and strains against his bonds even harder. “You’d never have known and you’d have followed me anywhere.”

“Shit, boss, no – that’s not what I meant,” Thom says. “S’just – they never thought of what might happen like this?”

“Don’t think we were supposed to be in a situation like this, puppy,” Jack replies, nudging Thom’s foot with his own. The younger man nods his head jerkily. “Okay, so: status report. Team lead is down, will need our support to get out of here. I can’t get my hands free and I assume neither of you can, either?”

Both of the younger alphas shake their heads no. “Right. Brock, how long do you think you have before you’re past the point of no return?”

“Dunno,” Brock says, grateful for Jack’s quick takeover of the mission. “The serum fucks up my scent, my body and I can’t estimate when I’ll hit my low.”

“Fuck,” Dan says, and shifts. “But I can already smell you.”

Brock whips his head around and the alpha quirks a wry smile at him. “Come on, boss, you know I’ve got the best sense of smell on the team.”

“And yet you couldn’t smell that we were about to be gassed and trapped in a fucking cell,” Thom snipes, and the two of them snarl at each other.

“Enough!” 

Brock’s amazed that either of them bothers to listen to him. He knows how Alphas traditionally respond to the orders of an Omega; or, not at all. “I want the three of you to get the hell out of here, however you have to,” he says. “I’m only gonna slow you down right now, and we have to find the information we’re after and get it back to HQ right away.”

“What about a possible extraction team?”

“I doubt we’re anywhere close to where we started,” Jack says. “They might not find us until long after we’re dead. Brock’s right. We get loose, we get out.”

Dan and Thom glance at each other, at Brock, then at Jack. They both nod, but neither look happy about it. Brock sighs internally. He really hopes neither of them does anything stupid to endanger the mission. “You two need to be ready to move,” he says. “We don’t have time for any bullshit.”

“Boss…”

“I will shoot you myself!”

Thom quiets, leans back against the wall. He pouts at Brock, which makes Brock simultaneously feel guilty and turned on. Fuck his heat, fuck it so hard. He shifts, trying to get comfortable, and that’s when he feels it; slick between the cheeks of his ass, sliding down his thighs and into his pants. He risks a look at his team and winces at the look on Jack’s face, the discomfort-yet-arousal, and the naked desire on both of the two younger Alpha’s faces. “Stop,” he says. “Get your fucking heads together.”

“Boss, you have no idea how good you smell,” Dan says again, and Brock can see the bulge in his pants clearly despite the cell’s dimness. “You’re like an entire whorehouse to a dying man in the desert.”

“That’s your team lead,” Jack growls. “You’ll shut your mouth or I’ll fucking shut it for you.”

“Yeah, Rollins? You think you’re so fucking immune, with that fucking club in your pants?”

Any further snarling is cut off when the cell door opens again. The same figure – or his twin brother – enters the room, followed by two other similarly dressed individuals. They’re dragging in… an old mattress? “Fuck, no,” Brock swears. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The figure has another needle, but Brock doesn’t fight it this time. He lays still, watching as the figure tilts its head in silent appraisal. “Just fucking do it,” he says. 

The figure leans over and – much more gently this time – slides the needle between Brock’s ribs, right into the tiny gland that controls all of his bodily functions. He turns his head away from the blacked-out face so it cannot see him break; it cannot see his absolute shame in the way his body betrays him, slick/wet boiling inside him and escaping down his cleft. Thom whines, high, and Brock knows his time is up. “Fuck you,” he says, as the figure leans down to touch his right ankle. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”

He kicks out when his feet are loose, but it’s no help. The other strangely suited individuals pin him, slide the mattress under his weight so that his wrists are still bound above his head, but now his feet are spread-eagled. Easy access. Christ. It’s worse when one of them unlaces and tugs his boots off; another takes a knife to his gear and cuts it off of him a piece at a time. Soon, he’s naked – unable to protect himself – and harder than he’s ever been in his life. “Fuck,” he mumbles, shivering as the heat continues to build in his core, working its way out as nausea and arousal. 

“Boss?”

Brock moans, twists on the mattress as much as he can to rub his ass against the fabric beneath him. He aches everywhere, and can’t get any traction to get friction where he needs it most. “Shit fucking whore! Let us out of here, you fucking sons of bitches!”

“Brock, calm down,” Jack says, and damn if the tone of his voice doesn’t make Brock want to whimper and obey. “Keep your head together. Come on.”

“Not your fucking bitch to order about,” Brock snarls, and ignores the huff of laughter Jack gives. “Fuck!”

The silent figures are almost to the door when one stops, turns, and tosses something silver and loud into the room at Jack’s feet. 

Keys.

They all eyeball it at the same time, and Brock isn’t sure if it’s hunger or lust or the ability to escape that any of them are thinking about. He can smell himself, finally; wonders if Thom and Dan will obey his initial order to escape and finish the mission… or ignore the command and fuck him through the floor. “Jack, you know what’s at stake here,” he tries. 

Jack uses his own feet to pull the keys towards him, kicks the silver ring over his head and easily catches it in his hands. “I know exactly what’s at stake here. And it mostly doesn’t involve letting my best friend succumb to heat madness.”

Brock shakes his head, groans. “I got time. You gotta get these two out, go get the data we need and…”

Jack’s growl he could’ve ignored, but the three growls that hit his ears have him whimpering and cowering on the filthy mattress. And suddenly he’s not alone anymore, because Jack’s free and hovering over him. “Hey.”

Brock looks up at him, licks his lips unconsciously. “Get out of here,” he tries, but he knows there’s no way Jack’s leaving him, no way they’re all going to make it with the level of hormones pouring off of the other three men in the cell.

Jack kisses him and it turns the heat into wildfire. Brock opens his mouth, lets Jack possess him, arches under him to rub against him. Jack trails his mouth down Brock’s chest, licking at his cock, and then sinking his tongue into Brock’s slick. Brock whines, begs, “Let me loose, please, wanna touch wanna – FUCK.”

Fingers join Jack’s mouth, and then a second body’s kneeling over his chest, straddling him. “He left the keys unattended,” Dan says, shrugging. “Come on, boss, open your mouth.”

“Any of you fuckers think to bite me and I’ll slit your fucking throats,” Brock promises, before sucking the cock in front of him down his throat. He laughs at the squeak Dan makes, then groans as Jack’s tongue is replaced by his cock. He sucks Dan hard, swallowing around him, tasting the bitter hot Alpha pheromones back in his throat. Just as he gets used to the taste, Dan moves. 

“Fuck, get back here, before I…”

“Sorry, boss, my turn,” Thom says, switching places with Dan – as Dan takes over for Jack, and Jack pulls out long enough to watch the other two use Brock for their own pleasure.

“Not gonna uncuff you yet, Brock,” Jack says. “Like you like this. Sweet and open and just begging for our knots. Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this.”

Brock groans, and doesn’t complain as his teammates (and friends) take turns using him, sucking him and fucking his hole and mouth. He’s riding a wave of blissful endorphins, body accepting of everything happening to him, and – if he’s honest with himself – he’s loving every minute of it.

Until there’s shouting in the corridor, and Dan yells, “GAS!” and he goes out like a light again.

&&&&&&&&&&

He wakes this time in a hospital bed, but he’s still strapped down. Standing over him is the man himself – Alexander Pierce. “Sir,” he says, softly. 

“Throat still hurting?”

Brock doesn’t know why, but the question has him blushing like a pup again. “Yes, sir.”

Pierce pours a cup of water and hands it to him. “Drink. You’ve been out for three days. Seems the gas hit you harder than the others.”

“The team?”

“Fine. Better than fine, actually. They’re all exceptionally anxious to see you.”

Brock squints at the older man, who smiles serenely back. Finally, he says, “You fucking set me up, didn’t you.”

“Of course I did,” Pierce replies. “The doctors were very clear that you had to go off of the drugs at least once every ten years. Is it my fault you’re incredibly stubborn and won’t plan for it on your own? I’m not losing my best team leader to his own idiocy.”

Brock shuts his eyes, squeezes them tightly. “Did they know?”

“Not beforehand. I think Jack suspects.”

“Fuck.”

“You know, Rumlow, you might be pleasantly surprised by them,” Pierce says, thoughtfully. “I hand-picked them specifically for you, you know. And now, instead of simply having a STRIKE team, I have three Alphas reasonably devoted to keeping you alive, along with one of the most loyal team/packs in S.H.I.E.L.D. I don’t see how I lost here. And the only thing you lost was a bit of dignity, which would’ve been avoided if you’d taken care of yourself better. And now the serum will work correctly until the next time you need to let go and enjoy a heat.”

Brock can’t help but grimace, knowing the Alpha in front of him is correct. “So they aren’t asking to transfer to other teams?”

“Anything but. They’re asking to see you and ensure you’re all right. Loyalty, Brock. Sometimes it can be purchased, and other times, it can be… well. Bred into people.”

With that, Pierce opens the door and says, “Gentlemen. He’s awake.”

The room floods with scent as Jack and Thom and Dan pile around him on the bed. He tries not to arch into the touches, but can’t help the heady, relaxed feeling once the other three men pet at him. “Knock it off,” he says, gruffly. “I’m fine, for Christ’s sake.”

“Yeah, no way, boss,” Thom says. “You were a freaking wreck. It’s good to see you with some color back.”

He stretches alongside Brock in the bed, with Dan curled around Brock’s feet. Jack keeps his hand in Brock’s hair, stroking it away from his forehead. “You sure you’re all right?”

“I’ll be back in the field in short order,” Brock says. When Jack raises an eyebrow, he says, “We aren’t going to have problems, are we?”

“No way, boss,” Dan says. “You’re still a bad ass.”

“Or maybe a hot ass.”

“But never a tight ass.”

Brock scowls at the two of them, and then scowls at Jack as Jack snorts in laughter. “Don’t encourage them,” he threatens.

“Sorry,” Jack says, clearly amused at not at all sorry. “It’s kind of funny, though.”

“And hey!” Dan says. “At least we know what to get you for Boss’ Day in the future.”

“Our dicks,” Thom adds. 

“And maybe next time you need to have a heat, you can tell Pierce he doesn’t have to set us up,” Jack says. “Dan heard the whole conversation, you know.”

Brock puts a hand over his eyes, and groans. His team.

He wouldn’t trade them for anything.


End file.
